fic: Thief in the night
Thief in the night, 380w, Sam Winchester is a thief, breaking and entering to take what's his, even if Dean did steal the iPod from him first.
author's note: As I'm finding canon problematic right now, I'm not sure if this is fix-it fic or what, but the following events would be funny and sweet in my head canon where there is stable characterization and tender feelings and shit.
Dean must have fallen asleep at some point. He only becomes aware of the puddle of drool on the pillow when Sam storms in.
He blinks to wakefulness but then lets out an outraged squawk as Sam shoves him bodily until he's on his stomach on the mattress. Foul play, Dean thinks, but then Sam just grabs the iPod from where it's been squished into the memory foam under Dean's shoulder and then storms out again.
It's over in a manner of seconds, the space of a dream, and in the stillness of the room Dean blinks his eyes a lot and rearranges the pillows. Sam's footsteps dwindle to echoes as he stomps down the corridor...then grow louder as he stomps back.
Dean levers himself up on one elbow this time and watches wearily as Sam comes to reach for the headphones that are fused to Dean's skin from hours of wearing them. Dean tips his head back to look up, to Sam's hands gentle on his hair, prying the headphones gingerly off his ears, even while his mouth is pursed, angry.
"Stop taking my shit," he mutters and begins to move away.
Dean's hand slaps out and his fingers curl around Sam's wrist, thumb to beating pulse.
"Hey," he says, voice rough with sleep. He clears his throat once, and tries again, "C'mere."
Sam comes down easy and allows himself to be kissed. Once, twice, Dean's fingers pressing Sam's skin, Sam's bangs in Dean's face.
"You suck," Sam reminds him when he pushes away, and after a long moment of searching Dean's eyes, says, "We're not talking."
Dean shrugs and falls back onto his back, as if to say, fair enough.
He doesn't watch Sam walk out, and instead falls asleep like that in the quiet of the room. Somewhere, Sam is listening to Nickleback, probably, or would be if Dean hadn't deleted it from his library in a fit of brotherly concern.
There is no light in the bunker, no ghosts to haunt them here. When Dean wakes up again it could be three in the afternoon or eight for all he knows, the place so large and quiet he could be quite alone.
A new night darkens the bunker, and with it Dean's own, dark path. Donning a black shirt like a cape, he sees it now with no surprise - he is well and truly Batman.
author's note: As I'm finding canon problematic right now, I'm not sure if this is fix-it fic or what, but the following events would be funny and sweet in my head canon where there is stable characterization and tender feelings and shit.
Dean must have fallen asleep at some point. He only becomes aware of the puddle of drool on the pillow when Sam storms in.
He blinks to wakefulness but then lets out an outraged squawk as Sam shoves him bodily until he's on his stomach on the mattress. Foul play, Dean thinks, but then Sam just grabs the iPod from where it's been squished into the memory foam under Dean's shoulder and then storms out again.
It's over in a manner of seconds, the space of a dream, and in the stillness of the room Dean blinks his eyes a lot and rearranges the pillows. Sam's footsteps dwindle to echoes as he stomps down the corridor...then grow louder as he stomps back.
Dean levers himself up on one elbow this time and watches wearily as Sam comes to reach for the headphones that are fused to Dean's skin from hours of wearing them. Dean tips his head back to look up, to Sam's hands gentle on his hair, prying the headphones gingerly off his ears, even while his mouth is pursed, angry.
"Stop taking my shit," he mutters and begins to move away.
Dean's hand slaps out and his fingers curl around Sam's wrist, thumb to beating pulse.
"Hey," he says, voice rough with sleep. He clears his throat once, and tries again, "C'mere."
Sam comes down easy and allows himself to be kissed. Once, twice, Dean's fingers pressing Sam's skin, Sam's bangs in Dean's face.
"You suck," Sam reminds him when he pushes away, and after a long moment of searching Dean's eyes, says, "We're not talking."
Dean shrugs and falls back onto his back, as if to say, fair enough.
He doesn't watch Sam walk out, and instead falls asleep like that in the quiet of the room. Somewhere, Sam is listening to Nickleback, probably, or would be if Dean hadn't deleted it from his library in a fit of brotherly concern.
There is no light in the bunker, no ghosts to haunt them here. When Dean wakes up again it could be three in the afternoon or eight for all he knows, the place so large and quiet he could be quite alone.
A new night darkens the bunker, and with it Dean's own, dark path. Donning a black shirt like a cape, he sees it now with no surprise - he is well and truly Batman.